The Yellow Faces
by FrancesOsgood
Summary: Sherlock is bored and, though he won't admit it, lonely without John Watson. At the prompting of Molly Hooper, he takes what appears to be an open-and-shut case of spousal infidelity. It's up to Sherlock to discover the secret hidden behind the faces, and it's up to Molly to help Sherlock to deal with his emotional turmoil. Sherlock/Molly
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes:

The Yellow Faces

"What are you looking at?" Sherlock sneered. The unwavering face with unblinking eyes smiled back at him from the wall as he paced. He was bored. He was beyond bored. He was agitated and bored.

Sherlock Holmes had not seen a whisker of John Watson in over two days. Two days, four hours and thirty-six minutes to be exact. It was ridiculous. Ludicrous. How bloody long could it possibly take to baby-proof a one-bedroom flat? Round the edges, put away knives and potential fire hazards, gate the stairwell. Done and done. He'd have had it finished in under an hour. Well, at John and Mary's flat anyway. _His_ flat would take considerably longer, but since he wasn't planning on having any babies about, save when John and Mary brought their squalling, soggy bundle of joy over to visit, the point was moot.

Sherlock paced the room again, cursing Mary and her damned fertility. She had had John all to herself for days and seemed to be in no hurry to give him up to, as she so cleverly put it, "play 'Miss Marple' with Sherlock."

Sherlock turned back to the face he had spray painted on the wall. "Yellow," he cringed. "Of all the colors in the spectrum, why'd it have to be yellow?"

"I don't know why you painted it on there at all, Sherlock Holmes," Mrs. Hudson scolded.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock sighed as she set the tray with tea service on the small table near his chair. "I was bored. Like I am now." He turned back to study the wall. "Perhaps I'll make him a companion. Not yellow though."

"You'll do no such thing, Sherlock. You've defaced my walls enough. Now, come and get your tea."

Sherlock turned, somewhat sulkily, his dressing gown swirling up behind him, and plopped down into his chair. He accepted his tea from Mrs. Hudson and silently prayed that she wouldn't try to engage him in conversation. As usual, his prayers went unanswered.

"It's exciting about John and Mary, isn't it?" she asked with a wide smile. "They've been doing all the little last minute things to get ready. It shouldn't be long now."

"Shouldn't be long?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"It shouldn't be long until the baby comes, silly," Mrs. Hudson laughed.

Sherlock groaned. "Don't you have something to dust? Not here, of course. Somewhere, anywhere else?"

"Oh Sherlock, I'm only trying to keep you company. I know you're missing John."

"I am not," Sherlock argued a bit too forcefully. He jumped up from his chair and went back to pacing, loudly slurping his tea as he did. "I'm just bored. I need something. I need a case! I need-" He was interrupted by a knock at the door. "A client!" he cried with a jubilant smile.

Mrs. Hudson got up from her seat and went to the door. "I'll let them in and myself out," she said. Sherlock barely acknowledged the remark with a nod and instead stood on tip-toe (as if he needed to) to see who was at the door.

"Oh hello, Molly!" Mrs. Hudson cried. Sherlock was pretty sure he groaned out loud as Mrs. Hudson began gushing to the pathologist. "It's so good to see you, dear. I was just going, but I'm glad you're here. Sherlock is in a state without John. Perhaps you can cheer him up." She was still chattering as she bustled down the stairs.

Sherlock didn't hear Molly's reply as he let out a long sigh and flopped down on the sofa and turned his face toward the wall. The room was very silent for a long moment before he heard Molly knock softly on the table.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Sherlock just shrugged and she must have taken that for a yes because she crossed to the center of the room and stood there fidgeting like a caffeinated mouse. After a few minutes had passed and it became apparent that Molly Hooper was not leaving, Sherlock turned to look at her.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked with a sarcastic edge to his voice.

Molly started, caught off guard by his question. "Oh…I.." she stammered. "I just came 'round to check on you. See how you're getting on."

"I'm getting on fine," Sherlock replied, turning back to face the wall again. "Thanks for asking, but in the future a text would do, wouldn't it?"

He could picture Molly's big brown eyes drooping sadly at his harsh words, but he wasn't going to take them back. Molly should know enough about him by now to know that he wasn't one to sob and gush about how sad and lonely he felt. Not that he did. Because he certainly didn't.

"Right. Fine then. I'll just be going," Molly said dejectedly. Sherlock didn't answer, but peeked up at her a bit as she went to the door. Just as her hand reached for the knob, the door swung open and Mrs. Hudson appeared with a distraught-looking woman beside her. Sherlock sat up and studied the woman for a few seconds, coming to a quick conclusion about who she was and why she was there.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said, "This dear lady here has a case for you." She ushered the woman in and sat her down. "Now you just tell Sherlock what's going on and I'm sure he'd be delighted to help you out. Won't you, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson cooed.

"Delighted," Sherlock answered through clenched teeth before leaving the sofa and seating himself in his chair.

"Should I just go then?" asked Molly.

"No. No, you stay. I need a John. Sit down."

Molly glanced nervously at the woman and gave her as shy smile as she sat down on the coffee table. "I'm Molly, what's your name?"

"Jackie Munroe," answered Sherlock. The woman jumped to her feet in surprise.

"How? How did you know my name?" she asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's on the name tag clipped to your sleeve, you-" He started to run down the laundry list of insults, but a sharp look from Molly told him it probably wasn't the best thing.

"Fine, Mrs. Munroe," Sherlock sighed. "Tell me about your husband."

"How did you know I was here about my husband?" Mrs. Munroe questioned.

"Because that's why _all_ wives come to me. They want to know if their husbands are cheating and ninety-six percent of the time, they are. If you have suspected it, Mrs. Munroe, it's more than likely the case, so spare yourself and me the trouble and go on home but only after you've stopped off to talk to your attorney." Sherlock said all this in rapid succession without so much as a pause for breath and the two women looked at him and then at each other and then back at him with open mouths and wide eyes.

"Sherlock…" Molly began.

"Oh Molly, please," spat Sherlock. "Don't lecture me on love. You're hardly an expert."

The room was completely silent for several minutes. Sherlock wasn't sure if the women were stunned dumb or if he'd simply lost his sense of hearing. Either way, the silence was nice. Unfortunately, the pleasant quiet was broken by Molly clearing her throat.

"Expert or not," she quietly countered. "You should hear this woman's case."

"Even better idea," Sherlock said with a devilish smile. "Why don't _you _hear her case, Molly Hooper. Go on, hear her out. Take notes. When you're done you can tell me that I was right and that it's a simple case of infidelity. Like always. Till then, I'm taking a nap."

With that, he hopped up from his chair and moved to stretch out on the sofa. Molly sighed and shook her head.

"Now, Mrs. Munroe," Molly began.

"Please, call me Jackie," said Mrs. Munroe.

"Jackie, tell me about your husband."

Jackie sat back in her chair and began telling Molly all she could think of about her husband, Alfie. She had met him at a party seven years prior, had a short engagement, and had married less than six months later. He was a good man, a hard worker. He was one of the higher-ups of a large computer company which provided them with a good living. They had two dogs, five cats and a hamster named Schroeder, but no children.

"Alfie always wanted children, but I didn't," Jackie told her. "I'm a lab tech for Q-Global and I've always been very committed to my career. Having children would have meant giving that up, at least in part. I couldn't do it. I think it bothered Alfie, but he went along with it."

Sherlock mumbled what sounded like "boring" to the wall. Molly ignored him and continued questioning Jackie.

"So, what changed between the two of you?" she asked.

Jackie took a deep breath before answering. "About three weeks ago, Alfie got a phone call late at night. I could tell he was upset when he hung up, but he wouldn't talk about it. I pleaded with him to confide in me, but he wouldn't. We've never kept secrets from each other before."

"Hmph!" grumbled the consulting detective.

"Sherlock," Molly warned.

"Sorry, not listening," he threw back.

Molly turned back to Jackie. "What happened besides the phone call?" she inquired.

"Alfie's behavior changed," Jackie told her. "He started disappearing for hours at a time, taking his phone to another room when he got a call…"

Sherlock sneezed, but rather than "ah-choo" it sounded like "affair." Molly glared angrily at the back of his head.

"I'm right," he said without turning around. "You'll see. And stop glaring at me."

Molly frowned and tapped her pencil on the table. "Anything else, Jackie?"

"Yes," Jackie answered nervously. "The other day there was this." She pulled out her mobile and pushed some buttons and then turned it for Molly to see. Molly's eyes grew wide and she looked at the picture on the screen and then at the wall above Sherlock's head.

"Um, Sherlock," she called to him. "You may want to take a look at this."

He didn't turn around but stuck out his hand behind him and took the phone. He looked at it briefly before jumping up from the sofa.

"Where was this taken?" he demanded to know.

"In my kitchen," Jackie replied.

"Hmm… Mrs. Munroe, I'll take the case," he announced with a wild gleam in his eyes. He glanced back down at the mobile phone where a yellow spray-painted smiley face, nearly identical to the one on his wall, smiled back at him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**My first Sherlock fic! Yay! I am VERY new to the fandom. I watched the entire series for the first time just last week and I am thoroughly hooked. I knew I wanted to write something, and while looking through Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original Sherlock Holmes stories, I was struck with inspiration. I'll try to update this one at a quick pace. It's all plotted out in my head. I just have to write it out. **

**Please comment and review and tell me what you like/dislike. I'm a Sherlock virgin and could do with your input about characterizations and such. Thanks in advance!**


	2. Chapter 2

The Yellow Faces

Part II

Molly Hooper walked quickly, her short legs struggling to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. She wasn't really surprised that he'd asked her to come along. She knew he needed a so-called "normal person" to tag along with him and tell him how bloody brilliant he was, as if he didn't already know. Molly didn't mind. Sherlock was rude, obnoxious, and utterly clueless when it came to social niceties, but his brilliance more than made up for that. She could overlook his insults and even the fact that he called her John if it meant seeing him in action.

"So, the face made you change your mind?" she asked as she hurried along beside him. They were headed to the home of the Munroes to check out the smiley face spray-painted in bright yellow on Mrs. Munroe's kitchen wall. After agreeing to take the case, Sherlock had hustled Molly and Jackie Munroe out of the flat.

"I'll meet you at your home in one hour," he had told Jackie as he practically pushed her out the door. He had then turned to Molly. "The shop on the corner has acceptable coffee. You know how I like it." He had given her a quick smile and then rushed off to the bedroom to presumably change since he was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown.

Sherlock took a sip of his coffee before answering her. "The face certainly got my attention, but I sincerely doubt it has anything to do with Mrs. Munroe's husband's affair," he replied.

"Then why are we doing this?" asked Molly.

Sherlock sighed irritably. "Because I'm bored and I simply can't pass up a chance to poke about someone else's rooms."

"You're just humoring her before you break her heart then," Molly said shaking her head. "Giving her a little more time to hope and believe she's wrong before you devastate her with the cold facts."

Sherlock stopped walking and looked down at Molly. "Firstly," he began, "I'm not the one breaking her heart. Her cheating husband is. Secondly, it's never been my practice to disguise or hold back the facts. The truth hurts, but it's always better when it's plainly laid out and not prettily wrapped up in false hope."

Sherlock walked away and Molly let out a deep sigh. "Not always," she said to herself before hurrying to catch up with Sherlock.

Jackie Munroe was waiting in her kitchen when the detective and Molly arrived. Her house was spacious and grand, a testament to the couple's wealth. The kitchen was large and bright and looked as if it had rarely been used. The walls and cabinets gleamed bright white, giving the room a sterile, rather than homey feel. On a narrow stretch of white tile on the far side of the room, a vivid yellow smiley face grinned out at them.

"When was this discovered?" Sherlock asked Jackie.

"Yesterday," she answered. "It was here when I got home from work." Jackie frowned and began wringing her hands. "What does it mean?" she questioned. "Is it a warning?"

"A warning?" Sherlock asked, raising a thick eyebrow.

"Yes," continued Jackie. "You have one on your wall. Was that a threat? Is my husband involved in some kind of spy game or undercover work? I mean, he is into technology, but not anything top secret. Not that I know of-"

"Mrs. Munroe," Sherlock interrupted. "It's highly unlikely that your husband is working undercover. It's more likely that he is involved in an illicit relationship. Where _is_ your husband, by the way?"

Jackie faltered for a moment as she absorbed the detective's words. "He's—he's out of town. On business."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. This was a waste of time. It was all there plain as day. Mr. Munroe was having an affair.

"But—the face…" Jackie choked.

"Probably means nothing. The one on my wall means nothing. I put it there myself because I was bored. Your husband was likely bored as well, Mrs. Munroe."

"Sherlock!" cried Molly.

"Oh, don't look so appalled," he replied. "It's a simple fact. Women cheat because they feel unappreciated. Men cheat because they're bored."

Jackie burst into tears and fled the kitchen and ran up the stairs. Sherlock looked to Molly for an explanation but she only shook her head.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"Oh, that? That was the truth, Molly."

"No, Sherlock. That was cruel." Molly stepped toward him. "Look," she said, "I know you're agitated and upset that John hasn't been around, but that doesn't give you the right to project those feelings on to everyone else. You need to grow up and stop sulking like a child and find a better way to deal with your emotions."

"Sulking? Projecting? For the last time," Sherlock growled, "this is not about John. I don't care what he does or when he does it, and I certainly don't need you to rehash your latest lecture from your therapist!"

Molly said nothing, but turned and stormed out of the kitchen and to the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock demanded.

"To try and console Mrs. Munroe," Molly shouted back to him.

"Fine. Analyze her. I'm sure she'll be so much more interesting than I am," Sherlock sneered.

"You can be a real arse, Sherlock Holmes," Molly called as she stomped up the stairs.

"That's what I've been told. Speaking of arses, I'm going to have a look through Mr. Munroe's financial records. I'm sure there's plenty there to prove to his wife that he's out of town for more than just 'business.'"

Molly grunted and disappeared up the stairs and Sherlock made his way through the spacious house to the room he guessed was Mr. Munroe's study. It was a tidy room with dark paneling and built-in bookshelves. Sherlock sat down at Mr. Monroe's large desk and opened up the laptop computer that sat on top of it. He quickly figured out the password and in under a minute was scrolling though the Munroes' financial records. There were the usual purchases: dinner out, theater tickets, household goods, cleaning services, etc. A few items, purchased within the last three weeks, stood out: women's undergarments, several MP3 downloads and a number of medications.

Sherlock was listening to the MP3s when Molly appeared at the door of the study.

"Interesting taste in music," she remarked. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a Kitty Davis fan."

"A what?" asked Sherlock over the strains of "Oh Baby, Shake That Thing."

"Kitty Davis. That's who you're listening to. You know, former child star turned bad girl rocker? Her father was a country singer or something."

Sherlock just stared blankly at her for a moment. "Oh, the music," he said finally. "Interesting. Mr. Munroe purchased that song a week ago." He sat back in the desk chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. "I wonder why he would do that."

"Why not?" asked Molly. "It's quite a popular song. All the stations are playing it."

"Yes, but a grown man listening to such an insipid song?" Sherlock shuddered.

"People have different tastes in music, Sherlock…"

"You have it on your phone, don't you?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

Molly's face went crimson. "It's my ringtone," she admitted and the detective groaned.

"Did you find anything else?" Molly asked, eager to change the subject.

"Yes, and it all points to the same conclusion," answered Sherlock. "The husband is having an affair." He showed Molly the odd purchases on the computer screen. "Mr. Munroe bought several items of an intimate nature, but they weren't for his wife."

"How do you know?" Molly questioned.

"Wrong size."

"How can you—never mind, I don't want to know."

Sherlock cleared his throat and continued. "Mr. Munroe also purchased some medications, Methylphenidate, for one."

"ADHD medication? Perhaps he suffers from the condition. Or perhaps his wife does."

"Perhaps," replied Sherlock. "You should ask her."

"I'll do no such—Sherlock, this is ridiculous. Why are you torturing that poor woman?" Molly blurted.

"I agree, Molly. It is ridiculous," Sherlock said as he rose swiftly from his seat. "Shall we put an and to it and give Mrs. Munroe the simple fact that her husband is a lowdown, dirty, cheating bast-" He paused in his tirade and stared out the window of the study.

"What?" Molly asked. "What is it?" She followed Sherlock's gaze out the window to where a bright yellow smiley face was painted on the white picket fence.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Dun dun DUN! What is the meaning of the yellow faces? What's the truth behind Mr. Munroe's odd behavior? Will Molly end up punching Sherlock in the face? Tune in for updates to find out!**

**Please comment and review. It's all the payment I get from this little venture. **


	3. Chapter 3

The Yellow Faces

Part III

Molly Hooper had changed and Sherlock didn't like it. Sure, she still took his insults, but now she charged back at him. He hadn't forgotten how she had smacked him not once, but three times when John had dragged him into the lab for a drug test. He unconsciously rubbed his cheek at the memory. Mousy Molly Hooper wasn't so mousy anymore.

It was no matter though, Sherlock figured. He could still manipulate her to get what he wanted. He'd hear about it now, but he could still do it. She had come with him after all and she hadn't walked out yet even though he knew he'd behaved poorly.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered as he bent over the bright smiley face on the fence. He leaned in close and sniffed.

"What?" asked Molly, wrinkling up her face.

"I said I'm sorry," Sherlock sighed. "I've been a bit…disagreeable today. You've been good to come along and I want you to know that I appreciate it."

Molly opened her mouth to say something but Sherlock held up a hand to silence her. "I'm not saying you're right about this John nonsense," he continued. "I am perfectly fine with how things are between us. John has his nice little nest of domestic bliss and I have… well, I have my life. That's fine. Perfectly fine."

He stepped around the fence to examine the other side. Nothing unusual there. No other markings or symbols. Peculiar.

"It's also perfectly fine to miss your friend," Molly offered with a small smile.

"Miss him?" Sherlock grunted. "He's only been gone for two days."

"Which might as well be two years to you, Sherlock Holmes," said Molly.

Sherlock frowned. "She's right, damn her," he thought. "The past two days have been an eternity. I've nearly gone mad. Probably would have if Molly hadn't dragged me out on this ridiculous case."

"You agreed to take the case, Sherlock. I didn't drag you out anywhere…"

Sherlock looked up at Molly and realized that he had been thinking aloud. Thankfully she just shook her head and changed the subject.

"Do you think they are a message? Like Jackie said?" she asked.

"What? The faces? If they are, they're hardly threatening, don't you think?"

"I dunno," said Molly. "Sometimes happy-looking things can be frightening to people. Like creepy children in horror films or candy houses or clowns."

"Yes, or Valentine's Day cards," Sherlock replied humorlessly.

Molly's shoulders sagged a bit at the realization that the holiday was just round the corner and once again she'd be alone. Sherlock noticed her change in demeanor and tried to think of something else to say.

"This face doesn't look like any kind of gang or cult sign I'm familiar with. It just looks like a smiley face." He snapped a picture of it with his phone and fired off a message to a few members of his network. It didn't take long to get a response.

"Smiley face," read the first message.

"Happy face," read the next.

"Hakuna matata," read the one after that.

"Very funny," Sherlock mumbled to himself as he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Sherlock," Molly called from the alleyway between the houses. "There's another one over here."

Sherlock made his way to the alley and looked at the outside wall. A large yellow smiley face, identical to the others, had been painted on it.

"What does it mean?" asked Molly.

"It means that we have an unimaginative graffiti artist," Sherlock answered flatly and began to walk away. Molly followed.

"But there was one of those faces _inside_ Jackie's house," she argued. "That can't mean nothing at all."

"Look," Sherlock said, pausing to stare down at her. "I've checked it out. They're just faces. If there's a connection to Alfie Munroe, I don't see it."

"Jackie says he works for a computer company," Molly stated. "Perhaps he's involved in some kind of information trade gone wrong."

"For that matter," began Sherlock, "Jackie has access to more dangerous secrets at her job. She works for Q-Global, remember? The chemical company. Perhaps she's the mole and the happy faces are a warning for her. Maybe she's just trying to throw us off the trail." His tone made it clear that he was being sarcastic.

Molly looked at the ground. "I'm just trying to think of possible solutions," she replied quietly.

Sherlock sighed and led her out of the alley. "Most of the time, Molly," he told her as they walked, "the simplest answer is the correct one. Mr. Munroe is having an affair and those faces mean nothing and are leading us nowhere—except to that house over there."

He stopped and pointed and Molly gasped. A trail of yellow smiley faces led from the alley, down the side street and up to a brick building several houses down.

* * *

><p>Molly had counted seventeen smiley faces from the alley to the brick building. Twenty in all counting the one in the alley, the one on the fence and the one in Jackie's kitchen.<p>

"Twenty smiley faces," she told Sherlock.

"Yes," he answered. "And they're all fairly identical, no variations. A circle with two dots for eyes and a smile. Why? What does it mean?"

"So you _do_ think it means something," Molly said smugly.

"Perhaps," Sherlock hesitantly admitted. He rushed up the stairs of the brick building before he could see Molly's look of satisfaction and knocked on the door. A thin, elderly man answered.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Just doing a little check of her Majesty's subjects. Don't mind if we come in? Nah, didn't think you did." Sherlock gushed before barging into the man's home.

"Excuse me," Molly told the man politely as she stepped past him to follow Sherlock.

"Now, just a minute here," the man cried angrily as he hurried after them. "You can't just charge into my house like this. This is breaking and entering!"

"I didn't break anything, I merely entered," explained Sherlock. "I just want to ask you about the faces."

"What faces?" the man asked, obviously confused.

"The yellow smiley faces painted all over," Molly told him.

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said curtly. "The faces, Mr…?"

"Bramby."

"Right. Mr. Bramby, there are twenty faces spray-painted in yellow leading from your house to the kitchen of Mrs. Jackie Munroe four doors down," said Sherlock.

Mr. Bramby moved to the window and looked out. Several of the smiley faces could be seen on the pavement, fences and walls of nearby buildings.

"Those weren't there yesterday," Bramby replied. "Who did that?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Molly answered. "Have you seen anything unusual lately?"

Bramby thought for a minute. "No," he told them. "Not much goes on 'round here. We had some activity a few weeks ago when the folks next door moved in, but nothing much since then."

"You said new folks moved in next door?" asked Sherlock. "Exactly when was that, Mr. Bramby?"

The old man thought again. "I'd say it was about three weeks ago," he answered.

"That's around the time that Mr. Munroe got the phone call and started behaving strangely," Molly whispered to Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock replied absently. Molly could tell he was headed inward, weighing what had been said against what they already knew, checking and rechecking for any tiny bit of important information he may have missed previously.

"I think," Sherlock said suddenly, making Molly and Mr. Bramby jump, "it's time to meet the neighbors."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**So...any clues as to what's going on? PM me with your theories and I'll let you know if you're right. **

***Sherlock's first line to Mr. Bramby was directly lifted the from _Doctor Who _episode "The Idiot's Lantern." I love the 10th Doctor. He's very Sherlock-ish to me. **


	4. Chapter 4

The Yellow Faces

Part IV

Mrs. Macdonough wasn't an entirely disagreeable woman. However, she was not happy about having her privacy invaded and made her displeasure truly known to the detective and Molly.

"I'll not have strangers traipsin' through my lounge," she cried as Sherlock strode purposefully into the room and gazed about. Molly watched his eyes darting back and forth, seemingly at random, but she knew he was absorbing every detail of the room. He was noting and cataloguing everything from the manufacturer of the drapes to the patterns of the water stains on the side tables. Done with his initial sweep, he turned back to Mrs. Macdonough.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and that is Molly Hooper," Sherlock said gesturing to Molly. "I know that you are Mrs. Evelyn Macdonough. Now we're no longer strangers."

He paused and waited for Mrs. Macdonough to say something else and when she didn't, he continued.

"Your neighbor, Mr. Bramby, told us that you and your daughter moved in here about three weeks ago. Is that correct?"

"I don't see how that's any business of-" Mrs. Macdonough tried to respond, but Sherlock cut her off.

"IS THAT CORRECT?" he shouted.

"Yes!" cried Mrs. Macdonough. "There's no need to shout!" She sat down nervously in a chair by the window. Sherlock noted that she quickly peeked out the window before returning her gaze to him.

"Where did you live previously?" he asked.

"I—I mean, _we _lived in Inverness."

How old is your daughter, Mrs. Macdonough?"

"She's fourteen next June," she answered.

"Is she at school now?" asked Molly.

"Oh, no." Mrs. Macdonough stared at the carpet. "She doesn't go to school. I teach her at home. She has some…problems."

"Problems?" Molly questioned sweetly. She stepped toward Mrs. Macdonough and Sherlock marveled at how she could intrude upon the woman's personal space, yet make it seem so non-threatening. If anyone else had done so, Mrs. Macdonough would have clammed up completely or worse, ordered them out. Yet there was Molly leaning forward, so close she could have touched the woman's hand, and the lady only sighed and motioned for her to sit beside her. Molly obeyed, crouching down on the floor beside Mrs. Macdonough's chair.

"Lucy, my daughter, has many problems, dear." She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. "She's a sweet girl," she continued, "but she can be difficult to manage. She suffered quite a lot of trauma as a small child and I fear it's affected her."

"How so?" Molly gently coaxed.

"She has behavior problems. That's why she doesn't go to school. She has emotional issues as well."

"Where is the girl's father?"

"Gone."

"You said she suffered trauma as a child," Sherlock asked. "What kind of trauma?"

Mrs. Macdonough glared up at the detective. "I'd rather not speak of it," she told him. "It's not Christian to speak ill of the dead."

"Right," muttered Sherlock.

"May we meet your daughter, Mrs. Macdonough?" asked Molly.

"Yes, I'll just go and get her," the lady said as she rose from her chair and headed toward the stairs. "Please don't ask too many questions though. She's easily rattled and may throw a fit if you alarm her."

"Molly…" Sherlock began when Mrs. Macdonough had disappeared up the stairs.

"I'll question the girl," Molly informed him and he sighed with relief. Children had never been Sherlock's specialty, and certainly not ones who may throw violent fits if he asked one too many questions.

After several minutes, Mrs. Macdonough returned, followed by a young girl with fiery red hair and bright green eyes. "This is Lucy," she told them.

"Hi, I'm Molly," the pathologist said as she stepped forward and extended a hand to the girl. "This is Sherlock. We're going to ask you some questions. Is that okay, Lucy?"

Lucy looked at Sherlock and giggled. "Sherlock. That's a silly name."

Sherlock drew himself up to his full height and glared down, offended, at the girl. Molly placed a hand on his arm and gently shook her head at him and he relaxed. Lucy giggled again and flopped down on the floor of the lounge.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock," she repeated in a sing-songy voice.

Molly sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the girl and smiled. It was apparent to her that while the girl had the appearance of a fourteen-year-old girl, she had the mind of someone much younger.

"So what do you like to do, Lucy?" Molly asked her.

"Dance. Want to see?" She jumped up from the floor and did a pirouette and Molly clapped. Lucy bowed proudly before sitting back down on the floor.

"You're pretty," she told Molly. "I like you." Sherlock had to stifle a chuckle as Molly flushed pink and fumbled for words.

"Thank you, Lucy," she finally managed. "I like you too." Molly looked up at Sherlock and he nodded in encouragement. "Lucy," Molly began slowly. "Do you like to paint?"

"Oh yes!" Lucy cried emphatically. "I like to paint. I paint all the time!"

"Do you like to spray paint?" Sherlock broke in. Molly glared at him as Lucy fell suddenly silent.

"Lucy, what Sherlock means is-"

"No!" yelled the girl, jumping up from the floor. She began to cry. "No! I'm a good girl now. I said I was sorry. I don't want to get in trouble with the police!" She ran to her mother and fell sobbing at her feet.

"I tried to warn you," said Mrs. Macdonough. Molly moved toward the girl again and reached out a hand to stroke her hair.

"You're not in trouble with anyone, Lucy. We just want to know the truth. You can trust me. I need you to tell me about the faces."

The girl stopped sobbing and lifted her face to look at Molly.

"Did you paint the faces, Lucy?" Molly asked quietly. The young girl nodded and then began to cry again.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I found the paint can and there were so many places to paint. It looked so pretty…"

"What about Mrs. Munroe's kitchen?" asked Sherlock.

Lucy nodded again. "Those walls were so white," she said simply.

Molly smiled and patted the girl on the hand. "Thank you, Lucy. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe. Just don't do it again, okay?"

Lucy smiled and wiped her eyes with her forearm. "I won't," she replied.

"We should be going then," Sherlock told Molly. She nodded and tossed her multi-colored scarf around her neck and moved toward the door.

"Goodbye, Lucy. It was nice to have met you," called Molly.

"Bye, Molly," the girl answered as she moved toward the stairs. Sherlock watched as she hopped two steps at a time up the stairs singing a snippet of a tune that sounded oddly familiar.

"How do you do that?" Sherlock asked when they were back outside.

"Do what?" Molly questioned, confused.

"How do you get people to open up to you like that? Is that a female thing or just a Molly thing?"

Molly shook her head and laughed. "No, Sherlock. It's a _human_ thing. If you're open and kind to people, most of the time they'll respond in kind to you."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm not the touchy-feely type. I don't the time or patience to coddle and cajole answers from people. You though…" he paused and stared at Molly. "You don't even have to do that. There's something about you. I came to you. I opened up to you. I felt as if I could. You feel safe, Molly Hooper."

Molly shifted uncomfortably as his eyes seemed to bore into her. She didn't like it when he looked at her like that, as if she were a piece of evidence to be broken down and examined under a microscope. She tried to change the subject.

"You were right," she told him at last. "They are just faces. They don't mean anything."

"Simple answers, Molly," Sherlock replied with a wry smile. "It's no fault of yours though. It's a trick of the human brain to see patterns and connections where there are none."

"But isn't that what _you_ do?" Molly asked. "You see patterns and make connections."

"I-" Sherlock started to give Molly a very long and detailed lecture on how much more adept his brain was at reading subtleties and deducing the truth from the simplest and most ordinary of facts, but he was interrupted by the blaring of "Oh Baby, Shake That Thing" from Molly's phone.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "Gotta get that." She pushed the talk button and stepped away to talk.

Sherlock walked toward a big yellow smiley face that was painted on a nearby fence and studied it. The crude face smiled back at him and he thought of Lucy Macdonough happily painting yellow smiles all over the neighborhood. He unconsciously hummed a little tune as he turned away, but a sudden thought stopped him cold in his tracks.

"Molly," he called. "We need to go back to the Munroe home."

"What for?" she asked, ending her call and sticking her phone into her pocket. "I thought we were done. Mr. Munroe's having an affair and Lucy painted the face on the wall, right?"

"No," replied Sherlock. "There's something else. Lucy was humming that tune, the one from the MP3."

"So? I told you, it's a popular tune. I've got it on my phone. Everybody's singing it," argued Molly.

"There's also the medication, Molly. Methylphenidate, remember?"

"ADHD meds." Molly thought for a moment before the answer dawned on her. "Lucy?" she asked.

"It makes sense," said Sherlock.

"Not really," Molly told him. "Why would Mr. Munroe be buying medication for a neighbor child who moved in only three weeks ago?"

"Why indeed…" Sherlock replied thoughtfully. "We need to speak to Mrs. Munroe. There may be more to this than a simple affair."

"Like what?"

"Blackmail."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**I'm really super surprised and pleased at the attention this little story has received! I hope you're all enjoying it. We're nearing the end and I'm wondering if anyone has figured it out yet. PM me with your guesses/theories and I'll let you know if you're right. Thanks for reading! **

**Comments/Reviews are welcome and encouraged! **


	5. Chapter 5

The Yellow Faces

Part V

Sherlock trudged down the muddy alley toward the home of Jackie and Alfie Munroe. The happy yellow smiling faces grinned out at him from the pavement, the walls and the white picket fences of the quiet, upscale neighborhood. Molly walked slightly behind him, silent, and Sherlock wished for once that she would say something. John would have said something. He would have made a joke or told him some inane Army story or just babbled uselessly about this or that. As it was, John was probably joking and babbling and regaling Mary with his Army stories as they picked out tiny jumpers with matching booties. The thought made Sherlock physically ill.

"It'll be different, but not in a bad way," Molly spoke up suddenly. Sherlock stopped and stared at her for a moment.

"What?" he asked. He hoped he hadn't been thinking out loud. Again.

"With John," answered Molly. "It'll be different when he comes back, but not in a bad way."

"How is different not bad?" grumbled Sherlock. "I liked things the way they were before…"

"Before you 'died' and your friend moved on with his life?"

"Yes, that."

"I thought you liked Mary," Molly said.

"I do," answered Sherlock. "I meant what I said at the reception. I'll always be there for them. All of them."

"Oh, I see," Molly responded thoughtfully. "You just aren't sure they'll be there for _you_. You aren't sure there will be room."

Sherlock grunted. "Don't be ridiculous. I've never needed anyone to be there for me. I have always been self-sufficient. I'll do just fine without tripping all over John Watson on a daily basis."

Molly started to remind him of how he had shown up desperate and afraid in her lab and begged for her help, but at that moment they reached the Munroe house and her argument had to wait.

Sherlock knocked on the door and Jackie Munroe answered. She wasn't pleased to see them.

"Come to kick me while I'm down, Detective?" she asked crossly.

"May we come in?" Sherlock asked almost politely. "We have some more questions for you. There may be more to your case than I originally thought."

Jackie stepped aside to let them in and then led them back to the kitchen where the bright yellow face smiled down from the stark white wall.

"Why didn't you tell me your husband was married before?" Sherlock asked. "And before you ask, it's not important how I know. What's important is why you didn't make that fact known in our initial consultation."

Jackie leaned against the kitchen counter and glanced sulkily at the smiley face. "I didn't think it was important. Alfie and his first wife divorced almost fifteen years ago. He never heard from her again. Why is this important, Mr. Holmes?"

"I think perhaps your husband's first wife has come back into the picture, Mrs. Munroe. Are you aware that a woman and a young girl moved in a few doors down roughly around the same time your husband began acting strangely?"

"Yes, I have met Mrs. Macdonough. She's nice enough. What does that have to do with Alfie?" asked Jackie. "You aren't suggesting… Mr. Holmes, Evelyn Macdonough is not my husband's ex. I've seen pictures of his first wife. She was a very pale, thin woman with the reddest hair I have ever seen."

Sherlock frowned. Evelyn Macdonough was not pale, or thin, or red-haired. She was ruddy and plump and her hair was dull brown with streaks of grey. He supposed she could have changed very much in fifteen years, but surely she wouldn't have been so bold as to have met face-to-face with Jackie if she were planning to blackmail her husband. Of course, that didn't mean that the ex-wife wasn't hanging about somewhere and Evelyn was just a front…

"Of course!" Sherlock shouted and Molly and Jackie jumped. "Lucy!"

"What?" asked Molly.

"Don't you get it, Molly?" Sherlock asked her. "The former Mrs. Munroe is hiding somewhere in that house. She has some kind of damning secret on Alfie and she's blackmailing him and using Mrs. Macdonough as her front, her mask."

"But you said Lucy. What about Mrs. Macdonough's daughter, Lucy?" Molly questioned.

"Lucy is not Mrs. Macdonough's daughter," Sherlock explained. "She is the daughter of the former Mrs. Munroe. The girl painted those faces, but likely at her mother's request. Perhaps even as a warning for Alfie to comply or face the consequences."

"That's awful!" Molly exclaimed. "What sort of mother would do that?"

"The desperate sort, Molly. The greedy sort," said Sherlock. "No doubt, Alfie's former Missus got into some trouble or was just hard up for cash and decided to put the pinch on her ex."

Sherlock turned on his heel and headed for the front door.

"Where are you going?" called Molly as she hurried after him.

"Back to see Mrs. Macdonough and hopefully catch a glimpse of the former Mrs. Alfie Munroe."

"I'm coming too," said Jackie as she snatched her coat from the closet and threw it over her shoulders. "If that woman is blackmailing my Alfie, I'm going to give her what-for!"

"I would suggest not resorting to violence, Mrs. Munroe," Sherlock told her. "A woman such as we're dealing with would not be above filing an assault charge on top of the blackmail."

Molly leaned close to Jackie. "Between you and me, I would scratch her eyes out," she whispered.

"That's very big talk for a woman who still hasn't told her mother that her engagement is off," quipped Sherlock. He turned around and walked out the door before Molly could see his smile.

The trio walked quickly down the street toward the flat where Mrs. Macdonough lived with her "daughter." Jackie Munroe gasped as she saw the path of smiley faces for the first time. Molly left her side and scrambled to catch up with Sherlock.

"How did you know about the first Mrs. Munroe?" she asked the detective.

"Simple," said Sherlock. "There was a very small picture in a frame at Mrs. Macdonough's home of a man that I now recognize to be Alfie Munroe. There is an identical picture in the locket around Jackie Munroe's neck. The locket was closed when we visited earlier."

"Jackie must have opened it to look at his picture when she was crying and upset," Molly interjected.

"Yes," affirmed Sherlock. Molly was silent for a moment.

How did you know that I haven't told my mum about breaking things off with Tom?"

Sherlock paused and grabbed Molly's left hand and she gasped at his touch. He raised her hand up and examined it closely.

"Your engagement ended several weeks ago, yet you still have an indentation from the ring which suggests you wear it occasionally. Aren't you supposed to give those back?" Sherlock dropped Molly's hand and resumed walking.

"I did," Molly replied, embarrassed. She looked at the ground. "I bought another one. It's just costume jewelry, but it looks real. I wear it when I'm around my mum…" her voice trialed off and Sherlock could see that it was a painful subject.

"I'm sorry," he told her.

"Don't be," said Molly. "Tom was nice, but he wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?"

"He wasn't…right for me," Molly answered.

"Hmm, yes," agreed Sherlock. "He was rather fussy and obnoxious, wasn't he? Always walking about looking down his nose and popping up the collar of that ridiculous coat."

He gave Molly a sideways grin and she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle.

"What's so funny?" called Jackie Munroe from behind them.

Sherlock didn't answer since they had by that time reached Mrs. Macdonough's home. He bounded up the stairs and banged on the front door.

"What do you want now?" asked Mrs. Macdonough. "Lucy said she was sorry about the spray painting. Now go away and leave us alone."

"I have no more questions for you or Lucy, Mrs. Macdonough," Sherlock told the woman. "However, I do have several for the former Mrs. Munroe."

"Her name is Joanna," Jackie added.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "I have questions for Joanna Munroe."

"Joanna Munroe is not here and never has been," Mrs. Macdonough stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh yes? Well, we'll just see about that," Sherlock scoffed as he pushed past the woman and into the house. Molly and Jackie Munroe followed close behind.

"I happen to know that Joanna Munroe _is_ here and that she is blackmailing her ex-husband and…"

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence as he entered the lounge. There, seated on the sofa with Lucy on his lap, was Alfie Munroe.

"Alfie!" cried Jackie. "You told me you were away on business! What are you doing here?"

Lucy began to cry at the commotion and Alfie tightened his arms around her and cooed gently to calm her. "There, there," he whispered softly. "Why don't you go sit with Mrs. Evelyn while I talk to these people?"

The girl obeyed and went and sat by Mrs. Macdonough and Alfie stood and addressed his wife.

"I'm sorry, Jackie," he said. "I lied to you and I've been keeping a secret from you."

"It's her, isn't it?" asked Jackie. "It's your ex-wife. She's blackmailing you, isn't she? Why didn't you come to me?"

Alfie shook his head. "Joanna is not blackmailing me. Joanna is dead."

"What?" asked Sherlock and Molly and Jackie in unison.

Alfie ran a hand through his hair as he paced back in forth in front of his wife. "I got a call several weeks ago that Joanna had committed suicide. I wasn't really surprised; she had a lot of emotional problems. That's a large part of the reason we split up. I didn't know though that she had a daughter. My daughter. She must have found out about her right after our split, but she never told me."

Alfie paused and looked at his wife pleadingly. "I never knew about Lucy, Jackie. Honestly, I never did."

"Just tell us what happened, Mr. Munroe," Sherlock urged. Alfie put his hands in his pockets and began pacing again.

"Lucy had nowhere to go. She had been staying with one of Joanna's friends after she died, but the friend couldn't take care of her and she was in danger of being placed in a home. I couldn't just walk away and abandon her. She's my daughter."

"So you arranged for her to be brought here and placed in the care of Mrs. Macdonough just a few doors down from you."

Alfie nodded. "I was trying to buy time. I was trying to work up the courage to tell Jackie…"

"Alfie," Jackie cried, a tinge of hurt and anger apparent in her voice. "What were you thinking? Did you think I would turn the girl away? Demand you to just cast her aside?"

"I don't know," Alfie answered, breaking down into tears. "You've never wanted children and she has so many problems. She needs a lot of care, Jackie. Her mother was very sick and troubled and she has no doubt passed that on to Lucy."

Jackie stepped forward and put her arms around her husband. "Alfie, it's true I never wanted children of my own, but I would never cast out your daughter, no matter what her problems are. I'm not perfect, but I would hope that you think I'm better than that."

"Of course," sobbed Alfie as he embraced his wife.

Sherlock stood silently watching the scene. The couple hugged for several moments and then Jackie turned to where Lucy sat with Mrs. Macdonough. She held out her hand to the girl and Lucy rose to where she stood.

"Lucy," said Jackie. "Would you like to come live with your father and me at our house?"

Lucy looked to Alfie for reassurance and seeing his smile, she nodded her agreement. Jackie drew the girl into the family embrace and Sherlock was certain he heard Molly sniffling beside him.

"I'm sorry about your wall," Lucy told Jackie and her father and all three of them laughed.

* * *

><p>"That was…" Sherlock began later as he and Molly sipped tea in his flat.<p>

"Sweet? Heartwarming? Touching?" Molly offered.

"I was going to say 'surreal,'" the detective answered.

"Because you were wrong?"

"I wasn't wrong. Not entirely. I knew the girl wasn't Mrs. Macdonough's daughter," Sherlock replied defensively.

Molly smiled. She wasn't going to push the issue. It would be of little use.

"You know, you and Lucy have a lot in common," she told him instead.

"Why? Because we have behavioral problems and like to spray paint yellow smiley faces on walls?"

"Not just," Molly answered with a teasing grin. "Don't you see? Alfie is John and Jackie is Mary. They love each other dearly, but John also loves you. You are his Lucy, his problem child."

"I resent being referred to as a child, problem or otherwise," Sherlock sneered and leaned his head against the back of his seat.

"But you said it yourself at the reception. I heard you. You referred to yourself as their child. And now you're afraid that they're going to just forget about you since they'll have a new baby soon."

Sherlock looked up and was silent; watching as mousy Molly Hooper put _him_ under a microscope and told him what he was made up of.

"Love doesn't work like that, Sherlock," she told him, leaning boldly forward in her chair. "It's not a crust of bread that gets smaller the more of it you give out. I'm no expert as you say, but I know that Mary and John love you dearly and not just because they owe you any gratitude. They asked me to come by here this morning to check on you. They were concerned. They're not going to walk away and leave you behind, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock took a loud sip of tea before replying.

"What about you, Molly Hooper?" he asked finally. He caught her gaze and held it. He could see her squirming uncomfortably and it gave him a small bit of satisfaction to know that he could still get under her skin.

"I told you before, Sherlock. I'm here for you. I'd like to think I'm your friend," Molly answered slowly.

"Everyone wants to be my friend now: you, John, Mary… How did I suddenly become so popular?"

"It's the hat," teased Molly. Sherlock couldn't hold back a smile and a chuckle.

"Perhaps you should come around more often, Molly Hooper," he said with a grin and chuckled again as Molly nearly choked on her tea.

"I wouldn't want to become a nuisance," she said when she'd stopped coughing.

"Who said you aren't already a nuisance?" asked Sherlock. "Anyway, I've become rather accustomed to having regular nuisances about. Your presence wouldn't be completely intrusive."

"Thanks?" said Molly, wrinkling her nose. She wasn't sure the remark had been a compliment, but she decided to take it as one.

Sherlock looked at her for a long moment. Normally she would have lowered her gaze to the floor, but this time she forced herself to stare back at him. He had beautiful eyes under those unruly brows. He smiled a bit at her and seemed to be about to say something when he was interrupted by the chorus of "Oh Baby, Shake That Thing" blasting from her phone.

Molly jumped and grabbed the phone and muted the ringer. "It's my mum," she said. "I'm supposed to meet her for dinner."

"Don't forget your engagement ring," Sherlock said teasingly.

"Nah, not this time," Molly told him resolutely. "It's time I told her the truth."

"Good for you."

"Yeah, good for me." She didn't look so certain. "Sherlock, how would you like to-"

Sherlock cut her off. "No, I won't come with you. You've got to face your mother alone, Molly dear."

Molly nodded her head and stood. "Didn't hurt to ask," she sighed.

Sherlock got up from his chair and picked up her multi-colored scarf from where it had fallen in the floor and handed it to her.

"Thank you for today," he said sincerely. "I don't say that often enough to you, or to anyone for that matter… I appreciate your help, and not just with the case."

"You—you're welcome," Molly stammered. She held her breath as Sherlock leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Good luck," he said with a wink.

Molly blushed deep red and gave him a shy smile as she gathered her things and silently made for the door.

"Molly," Sherlock called to her and she paused in the doorway and turned back to him.

"Yes?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment before stepping toward the fireplace. He picked up his Strad and absently plucked a few strings before continuing.

"If I ever…if I'm ever too sure of myself, or you see that I'm not giving my all to a case that deserves it, please just whisper 'Lucy' in my ear and I'll sincerely appreciate it."

Molly didn't reply. She just smiled and nodded before hurrying out the door and down the stairs.

Sherlock sighed and ran his bow gently over the strings of his violin. The sound echoed down the stairs and out to the street, and on the sidewalk, Molly looked up at the window of 221B Baker Street where his silhouetted form swayed gracefully back and forth to the music.

~Fin~

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**And there you have it, ladies and gents! Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, commented and posed theories. You guys are wonderful.**

**This story is based on the short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle "The Adventure of the Yellow Face." If you haven't read it, you should. It's quite a quick read and available in full online. Thanks again, everyone!**

**Fanny**


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